


Gesundheit!

by vienna_waits



Category: due South
Genre: Comedy, Community: ds_aprilfools, F/M, First Meeting, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-17
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienna_waits/pseuds/vienna_waits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This man was so beautiful, he was positively Fraser-esque. As a matter of fact, without the glasses, he could almost pass for Fraser himself. Too bad Frannie had no idea what he was saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gesundheit!

**Author's Note:**

> For those (non-German speakers) of you who want to know what the German Guy is saying, I've included translations of his dialog following the end of the story (but read the story without them first--it's funnier that way). Written in April 2007.

Frannie was running late, yet again, and if Lieutenant Welsh noticed, she'd never hear the end of it. She checked her watch and tried to even out her strides so her coffee wouldn't slop around quite so much.

She hurried around the corner onto Maxwell and collided with something large and white and crackly and something far more solid behind the large, white, crackly thing. She jumped back with a startled yelp, and her coffee upended itself all over the sidewalk.

"Hey!" she yelled, startled and angry and surprised all at once, "why don't you watch where you're—"

The large white crackly thing, she realized, was a map, and the two hands holding it quickly tossed it aside to reveal a very sheepish-looking—whoa, wait a minute! Make that very good-looking—man in a beautiful brown tweed business suit wearing black Clark-Kent-style glasses.

The good-looking man looked at the coffee spilled all over the sidewalk, his (mmm, cute) mouth making a little rounded O of abashed horror. "Ach, Ihr Kaffee, es tut mir schrecklich Leid!" He gestured at her right sleeve and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Und Ihre Bluse hat nun Kaffeeflecken drauf, ach, wie peinlich. Ich habe mich heute morgen beim Anziehen dummerweise auf meine Brille hingesetzt, und—" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lens, and now Frannie noticed that his glasses were missing the left lens, and the right one had a crack in it. "—ich bin recht kurzsichtig ohne sie," he lamented, removing his glasses and waving them around unhappily. "Und jetzt habe ich mich ausserdem verlaufen," he finished breathlessly, bringing his (OMG gorgeous!) eyes up to meet hers.

Frannie had gone from angry to taken aback to totally mesmerized. This man was so beautiful, he was positively Fraser-esque. As a matter of fact, without the glasses, he could almost pass for Fraser himself. Too bad she had no idea what he was saying. "It's okay, it's okay, forget about the coffee," she said, breaking into a smile. "Um, do you speak English?"

The man shook his head, looking crestfallen. "Warum bin ich nur in der verfluchten DDR aufgewachsen...parlez-vous francais? Vy govorite po-russki?"

Frannie shook her head. "Parla italiano?" she volleyed.

Another head shake. They stood there staring at each other with an odd mixture of amusement and frustration until the breeze kicked up and launched the map down the sidewalk. They both rushed to grab it, and the man's left hand ended up on top of Frannie's, their faces just inches away from each other. She quickly scanned his hands. No rings. Good.

"Oh, Entschuldigung," the man said quickly, a red flush creeping up his neck, and removed his hands.

"No, no, I don't have to go to school," Frannie replied brightly, trying to fold the map back together. "I, um, don't have to go anywhere, actually." A tingle of excitement raced up her spine. The map refused to fold correctly.

After watching her struggle with it for another minute, the man simply held out his hands, his eyes twinkling, and Frannie surrendered the map. He quickly folded it and put it in the front pocket of the black leather bag he carried slung over one shoulder. Frannie smiled and mimed applause, and the man smiled back and gave a cute little bow.

The man looked pensive for a moment, and then he held his index finger aloft, telling her to wait. She nodded. He pulled a phrase book from his other pants pocket, opened it, and started flipping through the pages. Frannie shifted from one foot to the other and tried to be patient.

The man cleared his throat and licked his lips, his forehead creasing in concentration, and Frannie leaned in expectantly. "Vot..." He held up his finger again and started flipping through some more pages... "ees..." More page-flipping. It was at this moment that Frannie made an executive decision.

In one smooth motion, she grabbed the phrase book out of his hand and flung it violently over her shoulder. It fluttered in protest and landed with a satisfying thud in the middle of six lanes of traffic.

And then she flung her arms around his (absolutely Adonis-like, mrowwwr) shoulders and kissed him.

After a moment's frozen shock, his arms circled her back and drew her in close, and he gave as good as he got. He even tasted clean and minty.

They broke apart, and he stared at her in elated disbelief. "Meine Güte, die Amis sind wirklich so, wie sie in den Filmen rüberkommen," he murmured in amazement.

"Oh, you're so sweet to say that, but no, I'm not a film star," Frannie said, looking coquettishly down and to the side. "But since we're friends now..." She took a deep breath and placed a hand on her chest. "FRA-NNIE," she introduced herself, thumping her chest with each syllable. She swung her arms wide to include everything around them. "CHI-CA-GO," she enunciated proudly.

"Frah-nie," the man beamed, as if her name were the Secret to the Universe, and nodded approvingly. He drew himself a little taller, a little straighter, and put his (look at those perfect cuticles!!!) hand on his chest. "Karl-Jürgen," he pronounced, and then, waving his right arm to indicate someplace far far away, "Altensalzwedel."

"Gesundheit, Karl," she said, smiling and taking his hand. "Welcome to Chicago. I'm going to give you the full tour."

THE END

 

**********

Translations of Karl-Jürgen's dialog:

"Oh, your coffee, I'm so terribly sorry!" He gestured at her right sleeve and slapped a hand to his forehead. "And your blouse's got coffee stains on it, oh, how embarrassing. I stupidly managed to sit on my glasses while I was getting dressed this morning, and—" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lens, and now Frannie noticed that his glasses were missing the left lens, and the right one had a crack in it. "—I'm quite near-sighted without them," he lamented, removing his glasses and waving them around unhappily. "And now I've gotten myself lost to boot," he finished breathlessly, bringing his (OMG gorgeous!) eyes up to meet hers.

 

The man shook his head, looking crestfallen. "Why did I have to grow up in the blasted GDR...do you speak French? Do you speak Russian?"

 

"Oh, excuse me," the man said quickly, a red flush creeping up his neck, and removed his hands.

 

They broke apart, and he stared at her in elated disbelief. "My goodness, the Americans really are like they come across in the movies," he murmured in amazement.


End file.
